


Of A Cake And What Lies In It

by nikuy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Babysitting, Baking, Boyfriend/Son Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:22:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikuy/pseuds/nikuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise for Cristiano.</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of A Cake And What Lies In It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isa a.k.a besosyamapolas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Isa+a.k.a+besosyamapolas).



> MY VERY FIRST CROZIL FIC! (please be nice homg)  
> Thank you, Isa, you've become the mother of prompts! I've been _dying_ to write baby Cris aaaaah! (I hope you're happy with how this comes out)
> 
> Happy birthday, Cristiano Ronaldo! <3 <3 <3

Mesut blinked his eyes awake at the soft, small noises that echoed just on the other side the bedroom door. He yawned a little and then he realized that he had been lying on top of his slumbering lover. He smiled at the peaceful look on Cristiano’s beautiful face; he even got those small creases in the corners of his lips as if he was having a nice dream. The younger man resisted the urge to just kiss him awake like he did last night right after 12’o clock, which was why every single joint in his body protested once he tried to move them. He carefully crawled off his lover’s naked body (it was a very hard thing to do, really) and quickly pulled his boxers on as he heard the shuffling noises in the aisle grew impatient. Just as he was about to put his top on, the door silently creaked open and a small head peeked in.

 

“May-soot.”

 

He would’ve rolled his eyes if it came from anyone else, he _really_ didn’t like how people often mispronounce his name, but he could totally let this one go forever. “Ssh,” Mesut silently shushed with a finger on his lips, “I’m coming.” He put his tee on—wait, it was Cristiano’s—and skipped towards the door. He went outside and gently shut the door before he turned around to look down at the biggest, most adorable eyes he had ever seen.

 

“You make me wait too long…” baby Cris was standing by his feet in an Iron Man one-piece pajama with his favorite black, fluffy blanket with yellow stars on it. A pout was evident on those lips as he tried to look angry at the much bigger man. Mesut swallowed the urge to let out a squee and/or laugh by picking up the baby from the floor.

 

“I’m sorry, _Mausi_. I don’t want to ruin the surprise for your papa.” He reasoned as he started walking towards the stair, but little Cris still pouted at him and he didn’t even wrap his arms around him like he usually did when he holds him around. How Cristiano Ronaldo Sr. he was becoming. “I will make it up to you, okay? You can choose the frosting.” He tried again while he carefully tried to walk down the steps of the stair.

 

Cris’ face brightened and he tugged on Mesut’s tee, “Chocolate! Papa loves chocolate! And rainbow sprinkles!”

 

“That sounds great.” Mesut chuckled. At least he already listed those stuffs he figured Cris would prefer on his secret shopping yesterday. “Then I get to choose the filling, yeah?”

 

“Okay, but no jams.” He said, “And cherries. Can’t have cherries.”

 

*

 

They had been planning this since yesterday when Dolores called (she specially asked Mesut to stay over during her leave to Prague for a week) and she reminded Cris of his father’s upcoming birthday. He gave a quite brilliant idea to give his dad a surprise by baking him a birthday cake and Mesut agreed to be a part of it. He had never thought about the skill that is needed to assist a baby in the kitchen though and it just occurred to him when he reviewed the sponge cake recipe he printed last night and the ingredients that were lesser than he expected, but he still had no idea what to do first. Cris was already restless on his lap, grabbing everything within his reach—a bag of chocolate chips, whisk, and a cooking glove. Mesut was already not sure that Dolores would be pleased to know that her son’s boyfriend tried to mess up with her kitchen.

 

“Come on, May-soot!” Cris gleefully tapped his tiny, chubby hands on the top of the counter, “Let’s start!”

 

“Okay.” The German hesitantly picked the baby up again and got up. He then placed the boy on the chair and let him go only after he was sure that Cris’ sitting position wouldn’t do any harm to him, but then Cris decided to stand on it and he gave up. “Okay.” He took a look at the piece of paper again, “It says here that we need two sandwich tins…what are _those_??”

 

“Here!” Cris almost crawled all over the counter to reach two round stainless plates and placed them in front of Mesut, “I saw nana using them to bake cakes.”

 

Mesut raised his eyebrows, “Not bad at all, _Mausi_. And then…we need a grease spray? Which one—oh, here it is.” He took a blue spray can and placed it next to the tins, “And…oh, I know this one—a cup and a quarter of flour, castor sugar—oh _Gott_ , it’s just sugar, why don’t they call it ‘just sugar’—and butter.” He remembered _shoving_ different kinds of butter yesterday and looked at the different colors of the different brands of those things he got. He blinked as he realized that he understood _none_ of the cooking terms in Spanish and turned to Cris who looked back at him. “Which one do we use?”

 

Cris shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ll try them?”

 

It was probably a good idea since Dolores often brought Cris into the kitchen when she bakes something and Mesut started to peel the blocks of butter one by one, “Try them.”

 

The baby reached out to the closest one—the one with red seal—and poked his finger on it before he sucked on his finger. “It’s salty.” He moved to the next—the pale, white-colored one—and tried it as well before he made a face. Mesut felt sorry for a moment, but then he laughed at the face Cris was making. “It tastes weird!”

 

“How about this one?” he pointed to the slightly pale yellow one and Cris tried it.

 

He took a moment and made a serious face and pursed his lips as he tasted it, “It tastes like…butter.”

 

“Then that’s what we’ll be using.” Mesut took that one and lined it up with the ingredients they’ve chosen. He was pleased that they were actually making a progress here, but as he continued reading he started scratching the back of his head. “ _Mausi_ , that’s a mixer, right?” he pointed to Dolores’ beloved mixer on the table.

 

“Yes, nana said so.”

 

He was glad that Cris didn’t mock him as he made himself sound like the stupidest person on earth for not knowing what a mixer is (it wasn’t as if Cris could anyway), but he really had no idea how Dolores’ mixer works. It was like the latest gadget in the cooking area he had never seen with so many buttons, silver in color, and the whisks were huge and somewhat intimidating. He had never used that kind of mixer before, so he glanced at the hand whisk lying near Cris’ arm.

 

“I guess that will do.” He gestured to the whisk and suddenly Cris jolted ecstatically.

 

“YAY! I think nana’s mixer is boring!” he grabbed the whisk and waved it around happily, “I will do the mixing!”

 

Mesut smiled widely and grabbed a big bowl nearby to start and grabbed three measuring cups. “Let’s start then, _Mausi_. Give me your Fofo first; we don’t want it to get dirty.”

 

Cris looked at him in horror and grabbed his blanket tightly in his tiny hand, “But Fofo is okay with me!”

 

It really struck Mesut how similar Cris’ face looked like with Cristiano’s when he didn’t want to do what he was told, “Come on, Cris, we’ve talked about this.” Mesut crossed his arms, trying to make his point and feigned a disappointed look to hide his amusement.

 

“I don’t like it when you don’t call me ‘ _Mausi_ ’.” Cris pouted and puffed out his cheeks.

 

The German let out a sigh, “If Fofo gets dirty, I won’t let you sleep with it until we have it clean again. Would you like that?”

 

It seemed that it worked as Cris finally handed the blanket to him and he took it from him to tuck to a hanger nearby safely. “That’s a good _Mausi_.” He smiled and ruffled the boy’s silky hair gently, “Let’s get to work. How do I measure the butter?”

 

“It looks as big as the cup.” Cris suggested, “Why don’t you put it all in?”

 

“I guess there’ll be no harm.” He agreed and practically shoved the slowly melting butter into the big bowl. He then reached for the bag of sugar and poured some into the cup until it was full before he poured it all into the big bowl again. “I think it’s enough. I’ve never seen that many of sugar before.”

 

“Okay!” Cris yelled, “I’m gonna’ whisk! I’m gonna’ whisk!” the boy sloppily started to whisk the ingredients and got the mix splattered around instead as he did happily. Mesut laughed and tried to help him by taking his whisking hand into his.

 

“Do it slowly, _Mausi_ , you’ll hurt yourself.” He gently led the boy to whisk the messy mixture in a circular motion he often sees on cooking channel, but then it didn’t seem to work as well.

 

“It’s not changing, May-soot…” Cris started to notice once the mixture blended perfectly, but the texture is not soft yet.

 

Mesut shrugged, “Maybe that’s the way it should be.” He let go of the boy’s hand, “And now…oh! We need three eggs!” he skipped to the fridge on the other side of the room and took some eggs from the top shelf on the door, “Thank god your nana is always well-supplied.”

 

“Thank god!” Cris giggled as he repeated Mesut’s example.

 

The German laughed and went back to the baby’s side. “Now I’ll crack these one at a time and you whisk it gently, okay?”

 

“Okay!”

 

Gently the older man cracked one egg over the bowl—at least he was an expert at cracking eggs—and Cris patiently smoothed the dough. He did it the second time and it was well until on the third egg, Cris started to whisk a little too excitedly at the interesting texture of the mix. He didn’t really mind it though; the boy looked so happy and all excited. He remembered doing something like this before, with his ex’s son, making breakfast to celebrate mother’s day by giving his ex a sloppy breakfast on bed.

 

It was one of the memories of his past relationship that he was fond of, but now that he was making a new one, he couldn’t help it but to grin like an idiot because at this very moment he realized one thing that would be a big difference with his past relationship, he was now aware that he’d be missing Cris the most if his relationship would come to an end. He was not particularly fond of children, he wasn’t even sure if he would ever want one, but he was perfectly aware that he did _not_ want to lose Cris. He did not even realize when he started to be able to identify Fofo and call him ‘ _Mausi_ ’. It was just felt natural.

 

“May-soot, May-soot, it’s so fluffy!” Cris suddenly squealed.

 

“Time for the flour then?” he grinned and reached for the cup and the bag of flour. He carefully filled the cup with the flour and just dumped the stuff in there, feeling a little relieved that it was going to be over soon. “Now, _Mausi_ -“

 

“YAYY!!” Cris started to whisk _full speed_ and his sudden movement blew the powdery stuff in the air, making Mesut yelp and the baby laughed. “It’s so pretty!!!!” he kept on doing so with the same pace, splattering the half-mixed dough to his face and he got some flour stuck on his dark hair.

 

“Wait, _Mausi_ , stop!” Mesut reached for the boy’s hand and the boy guffawed as he saw some flour on Mesut’s hair as well.

 

“May-soot, you look old!” he cackled loudly, he wiped his face with his hand while he was at it and smeared the splattered dough across his cheek.

 

“You have dough on your face!” Mesut fired back with a bark of laughter, but before his laughter died down, Cris reached out to his face and smeared the remaining dough on his hand across his chin. “Hey!”

 

“Hee, hee, hee…you have beard like uncle Sergio!”

 

“Don’t make me give you uncle Sergio’s hairstyle, _Schnuckiputz_!” Mesut chuckled and took the whisk off him, “My turn, okay? I don’t want you to tell papa that I didn’t do anything.” He said as he sloppily started to whisk; the handle of the whisk was slippery from the butters Cris poked before.

 

“I won’t because this is teamwork. Like football!” Cris moved his hands in the air figuratively.

 

Mesut grinned and he checked the dough; it looked okay apart from the fact that some of it was now on their faces and clothes. “I think we can put this in the oven now.” He put it back down on the table and Cris threw himself to cling to his neck.

 

“CAAAAKE!”

 

*

 

The pans were already in the oven and now Mesut was preparing for the frosting and the filling. Cris brought up a giant jar of Nutella ouf of the fridge and decided that he wanted it to be all over the cake while Mesut felt sorry for his boyfriend’s diet but he couldn’t resist the temptation of his favorite chocolate spread of all time and decided to make it the filling as well. He had to drag Cris off the oven over and over again for the boy was growing impatient to see their masterpiece.

 

“Just wait until the alarm goes off and we can take the cake out, okay?” Mesut sat the boy on his lap, “And promise me you won’t touch the pan?”

 

“Because it’s hot and it will burn my hands. I promise, May-soot.” Cris nodded, but when the oven went off with a ‘ding’, the boy was the first one to turn his head to it and sloppily tried to jump off the German’s lap, but Mesut caught him.

 

“ _Mausi_ , don’t.” he said as he slowly put him down on the ground and got up. He took a pair of cooking gloves and strode towards the oven. When he was sure Cris was far enough, jumping up-and-down with excitement, he opened the oven. A sweet, delicious smell filled the room and he heard Cris making excited noises to hurry him and Mesut took both pans carefully. He closed the oven with his foot, “Stay away, _Mausi_ , it’s hot.” He warned as he carefully brought the cakes to the clean kitchen counter they hadn’t been trashing on. As he placed them down, Cris rounded closer a bit and he looked pleased to see the cakes looking good.

 

“They smell good, May-soot!”

 

“They sure do.” Mesut was surprised himself that it turned out pretty good. It didn’t look as fluffy as the ones he often sees at stores, but quite good. They didn’t burn it, the color looked good, and _damn_ the smell was mouth-watering. “We have to cool it down for a while.” He glanced at the clock and was a little surprised that it was already seven; he hoped that Cristiano was too tired to wake up on his usual schedule.

 

It didn’t take too long until the cakes cooled down and Mesut easily flipped the pans to get them out on a flat plate. He took a table knife and a spoon for Cris. They started to spread the Nutella over the first cake thickly then he turned the other pan and placed the other half on it. When they started to cover it with the chocolate spread, Cris grew impatient and use his hand instead to spread the Nutella. He could only laugh at how messy it looked with the baby’s hands now covered in gooey chocolate goodness. He didn’t expect that it would be necessary for little Cris to smear the rest of the chocolate on his hand to his face and he just had to grab the boy’s waist and tickle him with his own stained hands.

 

“May-soot, we still have to do the sprinkles!”

 

“Do you want M&M’s on it too?”

 

“YES! M&M’s!”

 

Mesut walked to the other side of the counter with Cris still in his arm to take a bag of colorful sprinkles and M&M’s from his shopping bag. “We do it artistically this time, okay?” he put the baby down on a chair and opened the bags for him.

 

“I can do art.” Cris giggled and grabbed a handful of sprinkles and just dumped them all over the cake. “Like the painting in the living room!”

 

“ _Mein Gott_ ,” the German shook his head. Cris grabbed more sprinkles and reviewed his work once he was done with his pursed lips and serious face. He then grabbed another handful of M&M’s and put them one by one accordingly to the color in a sloppy pattern Mesut couldn’t understand.

 

“It looks so pretty.”

 

“Yeah.” Mesut nodded, “Are you done?”

 

“I’m done!”

 

“Okay now let’s take a bath and make you look all good and clean for your papa, shall we?”

 

*

 

“May-soot?”

 

“Yes, _Mausi_?”

 

“You’ll stay forever, won’t you?”

 

Mesut paused from shampooing the boy’s head and Cris turned to him on his lap, gleaming charcoal eyes expecting an answer. The older man rinsed his hands in the tub and leaned back a little, scratching the back of his head, but then he jolted a little as he felt he leaned onto one of Cris’ favorite dinosaur toys and removed it from the gap behind him so he could lean on the marble tub. He didn’t expect such question from the baby, where did it come from?

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“I don’t know.” Little Cris swam and crawled up to his torso. He carefully wrapped an arm around him to keep him from slipping, “I like you. Papa likes you. Uncle Pipa said that he likes you so much he’d die if you ever leave him.” He bumped his nose with Mesut’s chest and the midfielder laughed.

 

“He’ll survive, he’s a superman after all.” he gently rubbed a lather of shampoo off the boy’s temple.

 

“What about me? I’m not a superman yet!” Cris pouted.

 

“You’re papa’s superboy.” Mesut grinned, “You might get stronger than him one day.”

 

“But superman can be sad too.” The little boy murmured, “When papa and you fought, papa didn’t tell but he was so sad. Uncle Pipa said you’re like superman’s Kermit.”

 

Mesut stared at him for a moment before he rose from the water, holding the boy in his arms while shaking with laughter, “It’s ‘kryptonite’, my _Mausi_.” He reached for the neglected shower faucet and turned it on to rinse the boy’s hair with warm water, “I don’t think I’m leaving your papa anytime soon though, but no, I’m not leaving you.” He offered a warm smile and the baby beamed at him. The boy stood up on the floor of the tub and reached to kiss Mesut on his lips before he giggled like a baby that he was. The midfielder laughed and quickly got the baby around his waist then carried him to dry him up. However, he needed to find a way so that Pipita would stop stuffing his baby’s head with dramatic bullshit.

 

*

 

“…is he awake…”

 

“…I think not— _Mausi_ , _das nicht_ —“

 

Cristiano thought he was hearing voices, but then he felt a quite heavy (not heavy enough, but pretty heavy) thing jumped onto him and woke him up in a blink of an eye. And laughter. Two different kinds but very familiar laughter filled the room and the next thing he knew, that familiar weight was now sitting on his chest and a pair of chubby hands caught his face and a cheery voice made him smile even with his eyes closed.

 

“Papa, wake up!!” little Cris giggled as he pulled on his father’s cheeks, rubbing the stubbles on his chin so he’d wake up.

 

“Oh…who is that…” Cristiano reached with grabby hands, pulling his son close and rubbed his cheek to his boy’s playfully. “Who is disturbing me from sleeping…whooo…???”

 

Cris screamed and laughed as his father brushed his cheeks against his stubbles, struggling playfully and started kicking, “Help! May-soot! Tickle-monster got me!” he gleefully cackled.

 

The German watched the scene and thought maybe it was time to spare Cris and he placed the tray he had in his hands on the bedside table to sit on the bed, “Maybe you should kiss the monster awake, _Mausi_.”

 

“Riiiight……..” Cristiano faked a sleepy, throaty voice that was meant to sound like a monster’s (but it only made his own son and lover giggle), “I will let you off with a kiss!” Baby Cris giggled and puckered his red lips to kiss his dad and suddenly Cristiano sat up while holding his son up in the air, finally opening his eyes. “Finally! Your kiss broke the curse and now the prince is awakened!”

 

“Yayyy!” Cris flailed and Cristiano pulled him close to kiss him again.

 

“Good morning, big boy.” He murmured against his son’s hair, keening on the fruity smell from that shampoo his boy had always been wearing. He glanced at Mesut and grinned wider, “Come here you, don’t you want to kiss the prince too?”

 

“No prince is this ugly.” The German rolled his eyes but shuffled closer and leaned in for the kiss anyway, smiling at his lover’s disheveled bed-look. “Or stinky.” He murmured against the very same lips he had been kissing everyday for the last few months. It was nothing new, but it never fails to make his stomach flutter and his cheeks flush. It took him a moment to remember what he was about to do and he quickly drew away, “While you were sleeping like a log, we prepared something.” He chewed on his lower lip.

 

“Really?” the older midfielder turned to his son, “You guys got me something?”

 

“Yeah!” Cris jumped up and down on the bed as Mesut grabbed the tray and placed it on his lover’s lap.

 

“Happy birthday, lover.”

 

“ _Feliz aniversário_ , papa!”

 

Cristiano looked at the cake on his lap. From the smell alone, he could tell what the sloppy and messy dark cream covering it, he couldn’t help but to smile at the tiny-fingers-shapes on the sides of the cake. There were rainbow sprinkles all over it—a little too generous, but he knew very well how crazy his son was for rainbow sprinkles. Also, M&M’s. He could see the smear of the food coloring around where the M&M’s were placed and grinned even wider, shaking his head in disbelief. From years eating the cakes his mother baked, he could tell that the cake didn’t raise properly or _even_ handled well, but it did things to him. Things he had never knew he could feel as he turned his eyes to his lover and son, their fingers were linked as if it was the most natural thing and they were looking at him expectantly with smiles on their faces.

 

“You guys baked me a cake?”

 

“It’s Cris’ idea.” Mesut smiled at him as he ran his fingers on the boy’s lovely hair.

 

The older midfielder turned his head to his son, “You’re only _three_.”

 

“May-soot helped!” the boy grinned widely and draped himself on the German’s lap, practically planting himself there.

 

“Wow.” Cristiano blinked and felt something dripped from a corner of his eye. He quickly wiped it with the back of his hand while the younger midfielder thre him a worried look and touched his hand.

 

 “Cris, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” He took a deep sigh and went silent for a moment before he finally looked up to find his son looking at him with a wide smile and all teeth. He smiled back and put the tray away on the empty side of the bed. “Come here, you two, I want my hug-hug.”

 

“Hug attack!” Cris and Mesut yelled and threw themselves over Cristiano, snuggling in his arms and he pulled both of them close.

 

It was brief and slight, but Cristiano _felt_ it. He couldn’t really say it out loud or even describe it with words, but for a moment there he knew he saw a picture of perfection; a picture of a complete, happy family. It was something he had no idea he would ever see with Mesut in it.

 

*

 

*BONUS*

 

Gonzalo was eating his breakfast while chatting with Karim on his phone, talking about the latest gossips he got from ‘reliable sources’ about their next opponent on Champion’s League when his phone went off. It was a text message from Mesut and he opened it curiously.

 

_From: El Mago_

_Gonzalo Gerardo Higuaín, do not ever talk about your favorite telenovela to my Mausi EVER again._

 

He blinked at his screen.

 

“What did I do?”

 

*

 

END


End file.
